#nerd x reader

you're perched up on your bed, reading a novel.

but your nerd!boyfriend is getting way too needy. the poor guy.

is it even his fault, though?

your elbows are unintentionally squishing your tits together. and every time you flip a page, your tits bounce ever so slightly, your nipples peeking through the thin tank top you're wearing.

your thighs are folded up towards your chest, and he can swear he sees a bit of your panties through your loose shorts every time you change your reading position.

and gosh. you're reading. that's the hottest thing he's ever seen you do.

the way your eyes scan each page. the subtle shift in your expression every once in a while.

he's leaking. literally. his cock is so hard that it's almost humiliating how horny he's getting just from watching you read. he can feel the pre-cum drenching his underwear.

you're still reading, oblivious to his predicamental situation, when all of a sudden, you hear a whimper.

your eyes shoot to him. and then you see it.

the giant wet spot on the front of his sweatpants. the silhouette of his fat, hard cock glaring at you through the grey fabric.

the tips of his ears turn a bright pink, colour rapidly spreading to the rest of his face.

'"uh- i- i'm just- i didn't mean to-" he stutters in a fit of embarrassment.

"do you enjoy watching me read?" you question him with a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips.

his eyes frantically search the room for a way out of this direct interrogation.

"i- no, n-no, it's not that, i-"

your book falls onto the bed with a soft thud as you lean forward to grab a hold of his twitching dick.

he whimpers.

you flash him an evil smile as you tighten your grip on his shaft, squeezing it in your palm.

the whole of his body shudders and a needy moan escapes his flushed lips, his eyelids shut tightly against each other. more pre-cum oozes out of his tip, imprinting itself onto the fabric of his pants.

"are you sure about that, baby?"

he gives in to your torture.

"i- y-yes, i'm sorry, y- you-re just so sexy when you read. so smart. i c-can't help it. it makes me so h-horny."

and the way he looks at you with such innocence. such helplessness.

gosh, you were gonna have so much fun with him.

"what else? go on."

you begin stroking his shaft through his sweatpants, squeezing it in your palm tighter by the second.

"ahn! f-fuuuuuck, i- i just couldn't stop thinking about y-you riding my c-cock and letting me cum in your p-pussy-"

your pace grows more rapid, your own wetness becoming evident to you.

"yeah? you wanna cum in mommy's pussy? wanna see my tits bounce while i fuck this beautiful cock?"

"y-yes. very, i-"

clearly, your dirty talking is enough to make him finish. his cum spurts out of his clothed cock, making the whole of his sweatpants milky and wet. his body convulses sporadically as he lets out a series of high-pitched moans.

you tut dramatically.

"tsk, tsk, tsk... look how much you came. is that how badly you wanna be inside me?"

he nods rapidly, his chest heaving and his heart pounding relentlessly.

"aww... well, here's the issue. you interrupted me right when things were getting interesting in my book." you do a fake pout. "and, well, i need to know what happens next." you whisper hotly into his ear.

"but i don't want to leave you like this. you're just so cute."

you pin your index finger into his still heaving chest, using the minimum force to push him flat onto the bed. and then you slide his pants down just enough for the whole of his lengthy cock to spring free. some of the dripping cum splashes onto your fingers.

"so, here's what's gonna happen." you say as you slip off your own shorts and situate yourself on top of his waist, hovering barely a few centimetres away from his erect dick.

he trembles beneath you, the closeness of literal paradise - your pussy - sending him off the edge.

"you're gonna read to me. loud and clear."

you hand him the book.

"meanwhile, i'll ride your cock. have i made myself clear?"

his timid hand grabs a hold of the novel while he lies there dazed, completely drunk in anticipation.

"page 269." you enunciate slowly.

and then you slide down onto his quivering dick.

a loud gasp escapes his lips. his breathing quickens and he shuts his eyes, desperately trying to stop himself from cumming so soon.

you're sitting smack on his fat cock now, your hands resting on his abs. your pussy juices slowly dribble down his thighs and you roll your head back at the full feeling.

"page 269. read. or i'm not fucking you."

"y-yes mommy, i- i will read."

he shuffles - more like struggles - to find the right page.

he begins reading. slowly.

and just as slowly, you raise yourself on his cock, until just the tip is teasing your clit. then you sit back down on him with a gentle 'smack'.

his eyes shut tight and his words become frenzied until they sound like mere gibberish to you.

you force him out of his breathy stupor by roughly grabbing his balls. you give them a squeeze.

"read. properly. i need to be able to understand it. read loud and clear for me."

he nods in submission and resumes.

he's still having a hard time but at least he's trying. and are you actually paying attention to what he's reading? maybe. maybe not.

you're just getting off on the way his voice keeps shuddering and trembling. his sudden gasps. his incoherent bumbles. his soft moans. the high-pitched noises.

and his cock. his perfect cock that stretched you out oh so well. his tip kisses your cervix, turning your stomach into a knot.

as you grind on him, you lift your thin tank top to reveal your plump breasts bouncing in tandem with your hips. you scrunch up the top there, leaving your tits on full display for him.

his eyes look away from the book - that he was trying to mumble as a prayer - and his whole body tremors. his words turn into voiceless gasps.

you smirk and play with your breasts, squishing them and pressing them together. and then you have the audacity to increase your pace on his cock.

you're now full-on bouncing on him, your tits jumping in the air vigorously before him.

'i am not letting you cum if you don't read for me."

"y-yes! i'm sorry- i- i'm reading, i'm reading. just p-please let me cum. please-"

"good boy. you like what you see? you like it when i squish my boobs like this?"

he nods vigorously, trying to focus on the stupid words of the book at the same time. but lord oh lord, he is miserably failing.

you can feel his cock twitching inside you. he's close. and so are you.

"and you like it when mommy bounces on your cock like this?" you go even faster now. the sounds of skin slapping skin - a rhythmic 'smack, smack, smack' - reverberating through the room along with your boyfriend's incoherent, strangled words.

"y-yes, i love it. i love it when you ride me- ohh fuuuuccckk, please let me cum!"

"not if you stop reading." you gasp frantically.

he's gonna cry. and he almost does. tears prick at the corners of his eyes because you're being so mean to him. making him read that stupid book when you're bouncing on his dick like the goddess that you are.

but he wants to cum so bad. and so he somehow finds it in himself to keep uttering the words he's barely able to comprehend anymore.

you ride him even faster now. your eyes are rolling back into your sockets, your grip on his chest harsher. the bed creaks below the weight of your combined bodies, and you come.

you moan loud and deep. "fuck! cum in me right now. cum in my pussy! oh, fuck!"

and oh he does. thick ropes of cum shoot into your warm cunt, kissing your clenched walls. his whole body quakes and he lets out a series of anguished moans, his fingers digging into your thighs.

some of the white goo oozes out of your hole, onto the base of his cock. and he lies there, spent and grateful.

you raise yourself off of him ever so slightly.

and when you bend forward, pressing your tits into his face, blood rushes to his crotch. again.

you smirk at him devilishly.

"oh, we're not done yet. want you to fill me up even more."

this time, you sit on him reverse cowgirl style so that he can see exactly what's happening. the way your bodies connect. how your hungry pussy engulfs the whole of his length.

before beginning your sweet torture, you look back at him, smilingly.

"oh, and- continue reading where you left off, yeah?"

he is a dead man.

⌗ hero ⋆ spider/moth/mantis hybrid ⋆ nerd oc

the last thing you'd expected when entering university was for the old highschool nerd to have gotten so pretty. not just that- but grow an attitude too. seems he has a need to make your life a living hell once he realises you're staring a bit too much.

⌗ cws... nerd x jock trope ⋆ suggestive ⋆ brat taming ⋆ college dynamics ⋆ strong language ⋆ he is suuuchh a brat

featuring ⢷ rishen herrera 781

char analysis ⢷ the kind, preppy nerd by day & fearless hero by night. a fusion of a spider, moth & mantis.

mission brief ⢷ omg a rishen series? a rishen series.

Rishen in highschool was that kid that was always just a mess. He was awkward, incredibly socially inept, unable to work well in group, and above all? A know it all. Fumbling with his notes and dropping flashcards all over the place. He was weird, to say the least. Most stayed clear, you included. As sport's captain you weren't too concerned with a stumbling nerd who couldn't even keep his glasses from falling off of his nose.

. . . but who the hell knew that all that would change in university? When the hell did Rishen Herrera get so hot?

You transferred to the city's university and the first thing you saw during your first day in class wasn't stumbling, or even fumbling weirdo— it was a self-assured, neat, frankly confident pretty boy and a smile that put the sun to shame. A red-knitted sweater vest with a finely pressed white collared shirt neatly laid over brown slacks. And to top it all off? Rimless, round glasses perched atop his curls. Did you mention that smile? That cherry tinted lipgloss? Wait— fuck, was that lipgloss?

While you were in heavy denial that this was the same boy you knew in highschool, you heard one of the girls in the front row call his name with a grin. And instead of fumbling. . . he merely smiled even brighter and waved. Once, twice, a greeting to more people than you could count as he made his way up the benches to the one of the few empty seats left. . . directly next to you.

"Oh, hey, are you new here?" He smiled at you. Smiled. And you knew in that very moment that you were oh so severely screwed.

Wait.

Did he not recognise you?

"I. . . uhm." You couldn't remember when last you fumbled. "Hey, Rishen. . . Remember me?"

But all he did was tilt his head. Furrow his brows and hum in thought. His little shrug left your heart frozen. How the hell couldn't he remember you? The highschool's golden boy?

"Highschool?" He mused at your reminder, fixing his glasses back over his nose and barely sparing you a glance as he tapped his holographic screen into view. As if you were far less important than his upcoming equations.

"Yeah, no wonder I don't remember you." He chuckled.

And what.

The hell.

Was that supposed to mean?

You would have brushed it off. Wouldn't have cared. Not as much as you were right now. If you hadn't seen the telltales of a smile. No. Not a smile— a smirk. One you hadn't quite seen from him, but one that you in all your fuckboy glory knew more than anyone.

Hold on. Was the weirdo turned pretty boy hearthrob. . . Fucking with you?

ೀ pairing: jermajesty Jackson x baddiefem!reader

ೀ warnings: smutttier

ೀ: nerd jermajesty and his baddie girlfriend ?

The arcade was a cathedral of neon and noise, every corner stuffed with whirring machines and flashing lights, a hundred different games going off.

The air smelled like buttered popcorn and ozone and the faint, sweet tang of cotton candy drifting over from the prize counter.

Kids ran past, clutching plastic cups full of tokens, their sneakers squeaking on the polished concrete floor.

A group of teenagers were crowded around the Street Fighter II cabinet, arguing loudly about combos.

Somewhere near the back, a pinball machine chimed out a victory melody, bells clanging in celebration.

Jermajesty Jackson was absolutely obliterating you at Skee-Ball.

"You're cheating," you said, watching another one of his balls roll perfectly into the hundred-point hole.

The machine spat out a string of tickets that pooled at his feet like paper waterfalls.

"I'm not cheating." He adjusted his glasses that sat slightly askew on his nose. "You're just bad at Skee-Ball."

"I am not bad at Skee-Ball."

"Baby." He gestured at your score, which was pitiful. "You have forty points. I have four hundred."

"Girl bye. You ready for round two? I want a rematch."

"Boy, don't make me take these tickets and go home."

"You wouldn't." His voice went soft, uncertain, the bravado crumbling. "It's our anniversary."

"I know it's our anniversary, silly. I'm just messing with you." You leaned up and kissed his cheek, and the blush that had been fading came roaring back full force.

"Now get your tickets. We've got dinner reservations."

———- DINER ———-

The diner was one of those places that existed in the strange space between nostalgic and genuinely fancy—red leather booths worn soft with decades of use, chrome fixtures polished to a mirror shine, a jukebox in the corner that played actual vinyl records instead of digital tracks.

The lighting was low and golden, little tea candles flickering on every table.

The air smelled like seared steak and roasted garlic and fresh bread.

You guys gotten a booth in the back corner, tucked away from the rest of the diners, half-hidden behind a partition made of frosted glass.

Jermajesty had requested it specifically when he'd made the reservation. "I want it to be private," he'd explained, and the hostess had given him a knowing smile that made his ears turn red.

Now he sat across from you, his flannel discarded on the seat beside him, his graphic tee rumpled from a long day.

He was fiddling with his napkin, folding it, unfolding it, folding it again, the way he always did when he was nervous.

"What's wrong?" you asked, reaching across the table to still his hands.

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong. Everything's perfect." He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"You're perfect. This is perfect. I just— I can't believe it's been a year. I can't believe you've put up with me for a whole year."

"Put up with you?" You squeezed his hands. "Jermajesty, I'm obsessed with you. Have you met you?"

"I'm me. I'm not— I'm just a guy."

"And I'm a girl who loves a guy." You ran your thumb over his knuckles. "I don't want an athlete. I don't want a rapper. I want you. I've wanted you since the day you spilled coffee on my shoes in the campus library and almost cried."

"That was so embarrassing."

"It was adorable. You offered to buy me new shoes. You didn't even know my name."

"I knew your name." His voice dropped, barely audible over the ambient noise of the diner.

"I'd known your name for months. I just never had the courage to talk to you."

"Well, you talked to me eventually."

The server arrived with y’all’s food, a massive burger for Jermajesty with sweet potato fries and a side of garlic aioli, and a steak and mash potatoes for you (my fucking fav 😩).

They ate and talked and laughed, their knees bumping under the table, their hands finding each other across the checkered tablecloth.

The jukebox switched from Prince to Michael Jackson, and the whole diner seemed to sigh into the vibe of it.

At some point, between the main course and dessert, Jermajesty reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.

"Before you freak out," he said quickly, "it's not a ring. I mean— it is a ring. But not that kind of ring. I'm not— we're not ready for— I just saw it and thought of you and—"

"Baby." You put your hand over his, stilling the nervous rambling. "Breathe."

He breathed. Opened the box.

Inside was a (silver or gold you choose) ring, delicate and elegant, with a small emerald set in the center.

The stone caught the candlelight and threw tiny green sparks across the tablecloth.

"It's your birthstone," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Y/B/M, right? And it's vintage, from the 1920s, the lady at the shop said. I thought... I don't know. You're so modern and confident and cool, but you've got this timeless thing too, like you could've been a queen in any era, and I wanted something that matched that. That matched you."

Your eyes were burning. You blinked rapidly, refusing to cry in the middle of this beautiful diner. "Jermajesty Jackson."

"Yes?"

"Put this ring on my finger right now before I lose my mind."

He took the ring out of the box with trembling hands. His fingers were long and slender fingers, and they shook as he slid the ring onto your right hand. It fit perfectly.

"How did you know my ring size?"

"I, uh." His blush was back. "I measured your finger while you were sleeping. Like, two months ago. With a piece of string. You're a heavy sleeper."

"You're a creep."

"Romantic creep."

"You're my romantic creep." You leaned across the table, cupped his face in your hands, and kissed him. His lips were soft and tasted like the root beer he'd been drinking, and when you pulled back, his eyes were still closed, his glasses slightly fogged.

"I love you," he breathed.

"I love you too, nerd."

——- Jermajesty's Apartment ——-

The apartment was a surprise.

Jermajesty had somehow managed to transform his living room into something out of a romance movie.

Rose petals, deep red and velvety were scattered across the floor in a winding path that led from the front door to the couch.

Candles flickered on every surface, the coffee table, the bookshelves, the windowsills, their vanilla scent mingling with the faint musk of old comic books and the clean smell of the Pine-Sol he'd definitely used to scrub the place down before you arrived.

A bottle of wine sat chilling in an ice bucket on the coffee table, two glasses waiting beside it.

The curtains were drawn, and the only light came from the candles, casting the whole room in a warm, golden glow.

"Jermajesty." You stood in the doorway, your hand pressed to your chest, your mouth hanging open. "When did you— how did you—"

"I had help." He was behind you, his hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders hunched in that self-conscious way he had.

"Royal helped me set it up while we were at the arcade. Do you like it? Is it too much? It's too much, isn't it. I knew it was too much—"

"It's perfect." You turned around and threw your arms around his neck. "You're perfect. This whole day has been perfect."

"Really?"

"Really."

He kissed you then, slow and sweet, his hands coming up to rest on your hips. He was always so careful with you, always so gentle, like he was afraid you might break if he held on too tight.

You'd spent a year trying to convince him that you weren't fragile, that you wanted him to touch you, that you were just as desperate for him as he was for you. Tonight, maybe, he'd finally believe it.

"Wine?" he asked, pulling back just enough to breathe.

"Wine."

He poured them each a glass, red, something French that Jaafar had probably picked out for him.

The rose petals rustled under their weight, releasing another wave of floral scent into the air.

You kicked off your heels and tucked your feet up under you, leaning into his side, your head resting on his shoulder.

His arm came around you automatically, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your upper arm.

"A whole year," he said eventually, his voice soft and wondering.

"A whole year."

"I didn't think we'd make it three months."

"What?" You sat up, twisting to look at him. "Why?"

"Because..." He shrugged, his gaze fixed on his wine glass rather than your face. "

You're you. And I'm me. You're like... this goddess who walks into rooms and everyone stops talking, and I'm the guy in the corner who gets nervous when the waiter asks me how my food is. I kept waiting for you to wake up and realize you could do better."

"Jermajesty." You took his wine glass from his hand and set it on the table, then took his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you.

"There is no better. There's only you. I don't want someone who makes everyone in the room stop talking. I want someone who blushes when I kiss his cheek and measures my ring size while I'm sleeping. I want you. Only you. Always you."

His eyes were wet behind his glasses. "Really?"

"Really."

"Oh." He swallowed hard. "Okay. Good. That's... good. Because I want you too. Obviously."

"I know, baby." You kissed his forehead. "I know."

The candles burned lower, their flames dancing in the drafts from the air conditioning.

"Hey." Jermajesty's voice had gone slightly husky in a way you'd never heard before.

"I was thinking... maybe... we could take a bath? Together? I have this big tub and I got those bath bomb things that Janet said you liked and I thought— only if you want to—"

You kissed him mid-sentence, because if you let him keep going he'd talk himself out of it. "I want to."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Okay." He stood up so fast he nearly knocked over the wine bottle. "Okay. Great. Let me just— I'll go run the water— you just— stay here—"

He practically sprinted toward the bathroom.

————

The tub was enormous. Jermajesty had filled it with steaming water and a bath bomb that turned the water a deep, swirling purple, releasing the scent of lavender.

More candles lined the edges of the tub and the bathroom counter, their flames reflected in the tiles and the mirror and the water itself.

Jermajesty was standing beside the tub, wringing his hands.

"Baby." You closed the door behind you, the click of the latch sounding very loud in the quiet room. "You're nervous."

"No, I'm not."

"You're literally shaking."

He looked down at his hands, which were, in fact, trembling. "Okay. Maybe I'm a little nervous."

"Why?"

"Because..." He took a deep breath. "I've never seen you. All the way. And you've never seen me. And what if— what if you don't like what you see? What if I'm not— what if my body isn't—"

"Jermajesty." You stepped closer, close enough to take his trembling hands in yours.

"I've spent a year dreaming about seeing all of you. Nothing you show me tonight is going to make me want you any less. Okay?"

"Okay."

"And as for my body..." You released his hands and reached for the hem of your top. "I'm going to show you mine first. So you know what you're getting into."

He swallowed so hard you could hear it.

You undressed slowly. The top went first you pulled it over your head and let it fall to the floor.

Your bra was black lace, Jermajesty made a small sound in the back of his throat that might have been your name.

Your skirt came next, the zipper hissing down, the fabric sliding over your hips and pooling at your feet.

Your panties matched the bra and you stood there in your underwear, letting him look, letting his eyes trace the generous curves of your body.

"You're shaking," he whispered.

"So are you."

"My turn?"

"Not yet." You reached behind your back, unhooking your bra with practiced ease.

The straps slid down your shoulders, and then the lace fell away, revealing the full, heavy swell of your breasts.

Your nipples were already pebbled, from nerves or arousal or both.

"Wow," Jermajesty breathed. His glasses had fogged up slightly. He didn't seem to notice. "You're— I mean— I knew you'd be beautiful, but— wow."

"You haven't seen the rest yet."

Your panties were the last to go, and you took your time with them, hooking your thumbs into the waistband and sliding them down inch by inch.

The soft spread of your hips, then the round curve of your ass as you turned to give him the full view.

"Okay," you said, turning back to face him, completely naked now. The candlelight painted your skin in shades of gold and amber. "Your turn."

Jermajesty fumbled with his flannel, his fingers suddenly seeming to forget how buttons worked.

You stepped forward—still naked, still unashamed—and gently pushed his hands aside.

"Let me."

You undressed him the way you'd undressed yourself.

The shirt got pulled off, revealing a chest that was lean and surprisingly toned, all those hours of nervous pacing around his apartment must have done something.

His stomach was flat, his hips narrow, his collarbones sharp and elegant.

He was beautiful in an unexpected way, the kind of body that spent most of its time hidden under baggy t-shirts and oversized hoodies.

"Your jeans," you murmured, your fingers already at his belt.

"Right. Jeans." He swallowed again. "I can— I'll do it—"

"I've got it."

His jeans came off, and then his boxers, then he was naked in front of you, and you both stopped breathing.

His dick was already hard, curving up toward his belly. It was the longest you'd ever seen, and it was thick and solid.

"You're gorgeous," you said.

"I'm— what?"

"You're gorgeous, Jermajesty. Why do you hide this body under all those baggy clothes?"

"Because..." He seemed genuinely confused by the compliment. "Because I don't look like... like the guys in the movies? Like the superheroes I'm obsessed with?"

"You look better than the guys in the movies." You took his hand and guided him toward the tub. "Come on. Water's getting cold."

They sank into the bath together, the purple water swirling around them, steam rising in lazy curls toward the ceiling.

The tub was just big enough for two, your legs tangling with his, your body settling against his chest.

He wrapped his arms around you automatically, his hands resting on your belly, his chin on your shoulder.

"This is nice," he murmured.

"So nice."

"I can't believe we haven't done this before."

"We were waiting."

"I know." His hands moved slightly, tracing gentle circles on your stomach.

"I'm kind of glad we waited, though. It made this feel... special. Important. You know?"

"I know." You turned your head to kiss his cheek. "You're a romantic, Jermajesty."

"Only for you."

They soaked in the bath until the water started to cool, sipping wine and talking about nothing and everything.

He told you about the new comic series he'd been reading.

He touched your stomach, your sides, the curve of your hip.

His fingers brushed the underside of your breast and then retreated, like he was still asking permission.

"You can touch me," you said, catching his hand and guiding it back. "Anywhere you want."

"Anywhere?"

"Anywhere."

His palm cupped your breast, tentative at first, then more confident when you moaned softly.

His thumb found your nipple and circled it, and the sound that escaped your throat was somewhere between a gasp and a plea.

"Let's go to the bedroom," you breathed.

"Now?"

"Now."

————

His bedroom was a museum of everything he loved. Anime posters with their bright colors and dramatic poses softened by the single lamp glowing on the nightstand.

A bookshelf in the corner was stuffed with graphic novels and fantasy paperbacks, the spines cracked from multiple readings.

His bed was covered in a navy blue comforter, the pillows mismatched, the sheets slightly rumpled because he'd forgotten to make it this morning in his excitement about the anniversary.

It was the most Jermajesty room you'd ever seen, and you loved every inch of it.

Now you were in his bed, the comforter soft beneath your back, and Jermajesty was lying beside you, propped up on one elbow, his free hand hovering uncertainly over your hip.

"Hi," he said.

"Hi."

"We're in my bed."

"We are."

"Naked."

"We are."

"Together."

"Jermajesty." You reached up and pulled him down for a kiss. "Stop overthinking."

"Can't help it," he mumbled against your lips. "It's what I do."

You rolled, straddling him in one smooth motion, your thighs bracketing his hips.

His cock was already stirring again, pressing against the curve of your ass.

His hands flew to your waist automatically, gripping tight.

"Oh," he said. "You're on top of me."

"I am on top of you."

"This is— I've thought about this— I mean, not in a creepy way, just, you know, hypothetically—"

"Jermajesty."

"Yes?"

"Touch me."

His hands moved. They slid up your sides, over your ribs, cupping your breasts with the same gentle reverence he'd shown in the bath.

His thumbs found your nipples again, and your head fell back, a moan slipping from your lips.

"You're so soft," he breathed. "Everywhere. I didn't know— I didn't know skin could be this soft."

"Kiss me."

He did. Deep and slow, his tongue sliding against yours, his glasses bumping against your nose.

You reached up and carefully removed them, folding them and setting them on the nightstand beside the lamp.

His eyes without the glasses were dark and slightly unfocused, his lashes long and delicate.

"You're beautiful without them," you said.

"I can't see without them."

"You don't need to see. You just need to feel."

You ground down against him, rolling your hips in a slow, sinuous motion.

His cock slid through your folds,you were already wet and he groaned, a sound that was half your name and half something wordless.

"Is this— are you—" He was struggling to form sentences. "Can I— I want to taste you. I've thought about it. A lot. Is that okay?"

"You want to eat me out?"

The blush that spread across his cheeks was visible even in the dim lamplight. "I— yes. That. I want to do that. If you want me to."

You kissed him again, because he was adorable and ridiculous and you loved him more than you'd ever loved anything. "Yes. You can eat me out. But then I get to return the favor."

"Return the— oh." His eyes dropped to his own cock, which was now standing fully at attention. "Oh. That's— yes. Okay. I would like that."

He moved down your body slowly, pressing kisses to your throat, your collarbone, the swell of your breast.

His tongue traced a wet path down your stomach, pausing at your navel, dipping inside briefly before continuing lower.

Your thighs fell open for him, and he settled between them, his breath warm against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

"You smell amazing," he murmured.

"Jermajesty—"

"I'm serious. You smell like— like the ocean or something. Sweetness. I can't describe it." He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, then another, working his way inward.

"Tell me if I do something wrong. Or if something's uncomfortable. Or if you want me to stop."

"I'm not going to want you to stop."

"But if you do—"

"Jermajesty."

"Right. Going now."

His first lick was tentative. Then another, slightly firmer. Then another, and another, until he was licking into you that made your hips buck and your fingers clench in the sheets.

"Holy— fuck— Jermajesty—"

"Is that good? Is this the right spot?"

"Stop talking"

He found your clit, his tongue circling it with surprising precision, his technique based on your reactions.

When your thighs tightened around his head, he backed off slightly. When your hips bucked, he pressed harder.

"You're— you're really good at this."

"I told you." His voice was muffled against your pussy.

"Oh my god—"

He slid lower, his tongue trailing down from your clit to your entrance, pushing inside briefly before moving even further down. And then his tongue was somewhere else entirely further back, and your whole body jolted like you'd been electrocuted.

"Jermajesty!"

"Too much?"

"No— don't stop— fuuuuck—"

He didn't stop. His tongue worked against your ass while his fingers found your clit,.

The orgasm built at the base of your spine like a wave gathering strength, and when it finally broke, you screamed his name so loud the neighbors probably heard.

"Jermajesty I’m bout to cum"

He worked you through it, his tongue gentling, his fingers slowing, until the last shudder had passed and you were lying limp against his pillows, gasping for breath.

"Was that good?" he asked, crawling back up your body. "Did I do okay?"

"Baby." You pulled him down for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. "That was incredible. Now it's your turn."

His cock was standing straight up, the head purple and slick with pre-cum. A bead of it had dripped down the shaft, leaving a glistening trail.

"You're so hard," you murmured, wrapping your hand around the base. He was thick enough that your fingers didn't quite meet. "Is this all for me?"

"Always," he breathed. "It's always for you. I'd have to go to the bathroom and— I shouldn't be telling you this."

"You absolutely should be telling me this." You lowered your head and licked the pre-cum from the tip. He tasted salt and musk and something uniquely him. "Tell me more."

"There was this one time— this one time you wore that sundress. The yellow one. And you bent over to pick up your bag and I could see— I could see the outline of your— aaaaah—"

You'd taken him into your mouth. Just the head at first, sucking gently, your tongue swirling around the ridge.

Then lower, taking more of him, letting the shaft slide along your tongue until he hit the back of your throat.

"Fuuuuck—" His hands fisted in the sheets. His hips twitched, like he was fighting the urge to thrust up into your mouth.

"Baby— baby, I'm gonna— if you keep doing that—"

You kept doing that.

He came with a cry that was almost pained, his cock pulsing against your tongue, hot spurts of cum flooding your mouth.

You swallowed it all—salt and bitterness and him—and when you finally pulled off, his chest was heaving, his eyes were squeezed shut.

"Holy shit," he whispered. "Holy shit."

"Good?"

"I think I saw God."

You laughed, crawling back up to kiss him. He tasted his own cum on your tongue and groaned, his arms wrapping around you and pulling you tight against his chest.

"Can we..." His voice was hesitant, almost shy. "Can we keep going? I want— I've wanted to be inside you for so long— but if you're tired—"

"I want you inside me." You kissed his forehead.

"Okay." He took a shaky breath. "Okay. How do you want to— what position should we—"

You rolled onto your stomach, pulling a pillow under your hips.

"Like this. I want you to take me from behind. I want you to be in control."

"Me? In control?"

"You've been following my lead all night. Now it's your turn." You looked back at him over your shoulder, your braids falling across your face.

"Show me what you've been dreaming about, Jermajesty."

Something shifted in his expression, something hungry, something that had been waiting a long time for permission to come out.

He positioned himself behind you, his knees nudging your thighs apart.

He was still half-hard, already stirring back to full attention nudged against your entrance.

He was slick from your mouth and his own cum, and when he pressed forward, the head slipped in without resistance.

"Aaaah—" Your hands fisted in the pillow. The stretch was almost too much, almost painful, but in the best possible way.

He pushed deeper. Inch by inch, his cock sinking into your wet heat, until his hips were flush against your ass and he was buried to the hilt inside you.

"You're so tight," he gasped. "So tight and hot and— I've dreamed about this. And it's better than— better than anything I imagined—"

"Move." Your voice was strained. "Please, baby. Move."

He moved.

The first thrust was experimental, like he was still learning the rhythm. The second was more confident.

By the third, he'd found his pace, his hips rolling against your ass, his cock dragging against your inner walls with every stroke.

"Nnngh— aah— aaah—"

"You sound so pretty," he breathed. "Making those sounds for me. All those sounds I've jerked off thinking about— and now they're real. Now you're real. Now we're really— fuuuck—"

His rhythm sped up. His hands found your hips, gripping tight enough to leave marks.

The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, joining your moans and his grunts and the creak of the bed frame.

"I love you," he gasped. "I love you so much— you're everything, you're my whole world, I can't believe this is happening."

"I love you too— aaaah— don't stop please don't stop."

"I'm not gonna stop. I'm never gonna stop. I'm gonna make you feel so good."

He reached around you, his fingers finding your clit.

Your second orgasm crashed over you, even stronger than the first, your cunt clamping down on his cock like a fist.

"Jermajesty— fuck—"

The feeling of you cumming around him was apparently enough to push him over the edge.

He pulled out at the last second, you felt the head of his cock drag against your sensitive walls, felt the sudden emptiness, and then hot spurts of cum were painting your lower back, your ass, dripping down the curve of your hip.

There was so much of it, pulse after pulse after pulse, until you felt like you were covered in him.

"Baby— fuuuuck—" His voice was wrecked, barely recognizable. His hands were still gripping your hips, his cock still twitching against your skin.

They stayed like that for a long moment, both breathing hard, the only sound in the room their ragged gasps and the distant hum of the air conditioning.

Then Jermajesty carefully, reverently, reached for the towel they'd left at the foot of the bed and began to clean you up.

"I can't believe that just happened," he whispered.

"Believe it."

"I lost my virginity to the most beautiful girl in the world."

You laughed, turning over to face him. His curls was a mess, his eyes were still slightly unfocused without his glasses, and he was smiling like he'd just won the lottery. "Best anniversary ever?"

"Best everything ever." He finished cleaning you up, tossed the towel in the vague direction of the hamper, and collapsed beside you on the bed.

"Are you okay? Are you sore? Do you need water? I can get you water—"

"Stay." You pulled him against you, your head on his chest, your leg thrown over his hip. "Just chill."

"Okay." His arms wrapped around you, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "I can do that."

"Happy anniversary," Jermajesty murmured, already half-asleep.

"Happy anniversary, nerd."

"Love you."

"Love you more."

synopsis: your best friend is a little bit of a loser. you still love him! just, um, maybe not quite as platonically as you thought when you catch him jerking off and realize that you might like a lot more than just his personality! how long will it take for you to get another look at what's in his pants? or will you give up before you get a taste of what else he's keeping from you?

pairing: dorky!best friend x horny!reader

wc: 4.7k

content: smut. porn with plot. masturbation, reader catches him jerking off, small misunderstanding, reader scheming to get her man, teasing, flirting, awkwardness, sexual frustration, she wants him bad, mutual pining, he's a bit oblivious, they are both giving loser lol, best friends to lovers, confessions, kissing, oral sex (f!) receiving, fingering, happy ending

PATREON PREVIEW BELOW

Your best friend was keeping a big secret from you. 

One that was approximately eight inches long and had a girth of about-

Okay, you hadn’t really approximated that when you were more distracted by how pink his swollen tip was the same shade as his lips as they parted in a low whimper, pre-cum glistening while his fist roughly stroked the base of it. 

Your brain went blank. And before you could say or do anything, he somehow picked up on your presence anyway, his head turning to catch you standing in his doorway. 

Shame prickling your skin, crawling up your bones as your own mouth dropped open, about to stutter an apology just for him to breathe your name in a strained voice, heat your brain immediately flagged as wrong wrong wrong coiling in your core. 

“I-I’m sorry,” you stammered, stepping back and half-slamming the door shut behind you. Closing your eyes only to find the image of him imprinted fully in your head, pumping his unfortunately extremely pretty cock as the way he said your name started looping with it. 

You tried to turn it off. 

To remind yourself that he was firmly cemented in the box neatly labeled best friend in your heart, but how were you supposed to convince yourself he belonged there when you were suddenly imagining him whimpering beneath you instead?

It wasn’t like you could just fuck him like some stranger and never see him again.

But you also didn’t know how the hell you were supposed to sit next to him on the couch watching anime when you knew what he was hiding in his sweatpants. 

You swallowed hard, your throat going dry as you reminded yourself that it wasn’t like he saw you as anything else anyway. You’d caught yourself crushing on him a couple times over the years, considering what he might be like as a boyfriend, but those had been easier to shut down. 

He was cute. Considerate. Like a loyal puppy dog who would plop itself by your feet and listen to you talk while you stroked his hair, tail wagging when you told him how much you liked being with him. One that just also happened to be hot in the messy, disheveled dorky way. Hiding a broad frame underneath thick hoodies with cartoon characters on them, pretty blue eyes always squinting at you from his thick glasses he refused to update his prescription for.  

As far as you knew, he didn’t go out with anyone, discarding receipts with girls’ numbers on them he tended to receive when you dragged him out to dinner or the movies with the promise of going to one of his favorite stores to buy whatever new game or comic or Lego set he liked afterwards. You befriended him back in school, back when you were both kinda gangly and awkward and you noticed him reading a book you liked, but unlike the rest of the puberty-mad morons, he never seemed interested in anyone, despite the ample flirting and teasing from classmates and strangers once he started to fill out his tall frame and look less like a boy and more like a man.

God, even these days when you talked him into going out to a bar or club, he never once checked out your cleavage or told you that you looked pretty, no matter how hard you tried to bait him into it. 

Maybe you just weren’t his type. 

So you convinced yourself that he would’ve made a move by now if he felt the same and distracted yourself by dating other losers that were nothing like him. 

But those relationships always ended for the same reason they started. 

They weren’t him. 

Didn’t make you laugh the way he did or remember your birthday or pick up the phone when you had a nightmare at three in the morning. Didn’t spoil you with just because gifts or send you a picture of a cute stray cat that reminded him of you. Called you weird for being into certain video games or shows instead of asking to play or watch it with you.  

And apparently, they weren’t nearly as large as him either. 

“I, um, I’m just gonna go,” you called out to him, thighs pressing together as you sucked in a deep breath, already planning on returning to your bed for  your own alone time. “I should’ve called or texted or something before coming over.” 

Sure, he’d given you the key to his place and told you to come over anytime, but in all the years you’d been abusing that privilege, you’d never walked in on that. Usually, he was just playing video games after work or asleep with a manga volume on his chest, drooling onto his pillow. 

“N-no, wait,” he called out, and you wondered if he had actually managed to finish, or if you just edged him. 

You had started to walk down the hall, but you heard the door creak open and his socks sliding against the wooden floor as you looked back over your shoulder at him. 

Sweaty strands of hair falling forward in his face, his glasses slipping down his sharp nose as he looked at you with wide, wild eyes. But your own had drifted down to the incredibly clear outline of his bulge in his gray sweatpants, a small damp spot growing through the fabric as you swallowed the spit pooling in your mouth.

FULL FIC ON PATREON HERE (also features a wide assortment of other oneshots/series!)